


crossing the line

by 8bitnoire



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rhys Is A Brat Until He's Not, Smoking (briefly), Spanking, Subspace, daddy kink (mentioned as a joke), hooray for healthy kinky relationships amirite?!, this is really just a very nsfw character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8bitnoire/pseuds/8bitnoire
Summary: Rhys and Fiona calmly discuss the terms of their alliance.
Relationships: Fiona/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	crossing the line

**Author's Note:**

> being in quarantine has made me both disastrously bored and disastrously horny. this is the result. 
> 
> this is a follow up to my previous fic, which you can read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206628
> 
> also - happy to announce that we’ve graduated from kinky undertones to full-on bdsm. everything is completely consensual and carefully negotiated, of course, but this fic is definitely on the spicier side.

The door swings shut behind Fiona as she turns to face Rhys, hips cocked and arms folded. “So.”

Rhys glances around the shabby motel room, looking anywhere but at Fiona. “...so.”

“We need to talk.”

He winces. “I know.”

“So…” She takes a deep breath. “Are we doing this or not?”

“I...I mean, we already rented out a motel room, and - ”

“Do you _want_ to do this or not.”

Rhys purses his lips, hesitates before he answers. “I think...I would like to do it.”

“Okay,” says Fiona, nodding. “Okay.”

He looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time since she proposed this. “What do you think?”

Now it’s Fiona’s turn to look away, pacing across the room. “I think we should...try it. Just try it.”

“We’ve already tried it.”

“I mean try it for real. Like with…” She gestures. “Agreements. And that sort of thing.”

“Agreements,” Rhys repeats.

“Like...I don’t know. We should talk about it first.”

“Is there something to talk about?”

She shrugs. “What we want out of...things? What we really don’t want to do? Like, that sort of stuff.”

“I mean. I want to cum and I’d rather not die.”

“Uh-huh. Smartass,” says Fiona, rolling her eyes. “I meant something more specific than that.”

“Like what.”

“Like…I don’t know. I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I’ve...I’ve never done this before, not like this.”

“You’ve never talked to someone about what turns you on?” says Rhys, nonplussed.

“I mean I’ve done that - ” 

“How is this different?”

 _Because it’s you_ , Fiona wants to say, but she doesn’t. Instead, she bristles. “Okay, then, if you’re so confident, you go first. Tell me all your deep dark psychological fetishes. Go.”

Rhys splutters. “Well, now you’re putting me on the spot so I can’t think of any!”

“God. God!” She scrubs her palms over her face. “This - this isn’t going to work. Not like this.”

“What - why not - ”

“Look at us!” Fiona throws her hands up. “We’re two grown fucking adults and yet we are still so emotionally constipated that we can’t even talk about what turns us on in bed.”

“I mean, I think this is about more than just getting turned on.”

“But still! I don’t know what I want. You don’t know what you want. How can I trust you not to fuck everything up again?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “So this is _my_ fault now?”

“A lot of things are your fault, Rhys,” Fiona hisses.

“Oh, _wow_ ,” Rhys scoffs. “Well then, please enlighten me about how much I suck.”

Fiona folds her arms, staring him down. “Have you realized that you never actually apologized to me for all the fucking lying you did about Jack?” 

“I have too apologized - ”

“I think I’d remember if you had!”

“Look, there was a lot going on - ”

“Six months ago!”

Rhys jabs a finger at her. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re squeaky-clean either, you’ve done a lot of very shitty and _very_ illegal things - ”

“I haven’t had a genocidal maniac in my brain and refused to tell everyone the truth about it. I haven’t worked for a megacorporation hell-bent on destroying the planet. I haven’t robbed people of their livelihoods over an Eridium mining deal that you wouldn’t even TELL me about - ”

That throws him off-guard. “How do you know about that.”

“Vaughn fessed up!” Fiona exclaims. “He told me that he still feels like shit about it! But you clearly don’t feel the same way - ”

“You think I don’t feel guilty?” Rhys interrupts, and his voice is suddenly quiet, intense. “You think I’m not fucking haunted by everything I did, everyone I hurt, everything that happened because of me - you think I don’t feel the weight of that every second of every day?” He shakes his head, sits down on the edge of the bed. “That I did all that and - and I ended up here. Alive. With you.” 

_Oh._ “Rhys…”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he continues, and she can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry or both. “Any of it. I should have got what was coming to me.” He smiles, but there’s no mirth behind it. “And I didn’t.”

Suddenly, everything falls into place. 

“... _That’s_ what you want,” Fiona breathes, eyes widening in understanding. 

Rhys‘s eyes narrow. “What.”

“You want me to punish you,” says Fiona. 

“I want - ” He takes a deep breath. “I want you to forgive me.”

“But you want me to make it hurt.”

He looks up at her, just looks, and she immediately knows the answer to the question she didn’t even ask. 

Fiona sucks in a breath and sets her jaw. “Go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be back in half an hour. And then we’ll talk.”

“Where are you - ”

“That wasn’t a question, Rhys.” 

He blinks, and then puts up his hands in surrender. ”...okay. Okay. I’m going.”

“Okay,” says Fiona, and Rhys goes.

\- - -

Fiona steps outside into the coolness of the Pandoran evening, still deep in thought. She huddles against the stained brick wall of the Happy Pig Motel and lights a cigarette, giving it a few good puffs before closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the cold stone. 

God, what the hell is she getting herself into? 

But deep down, she knows the answer to that question. They’ve been dancing around this for too long, way too long. 

She thinks back to that first night together, the first time the tension between them had broken and they’d let themselves fall headfirst into whatever the fuck this is. He’d been mouthy, prissy, contrary, awful. He’d been an enormous goddamn brat.

Until. 

Fiona knows now that Rhys likes sex doused in violence, likes pleasure laced with shame, likes pushing her buttons until she snaps and pins him down and just _takes_. But to have it so clearly spelled out for her makes it feel so much more dangerous. 

And it’s not that she doesn’t want it. It’s that she wants it so badly it terrifies her down to the marrow of her bones. It’s that it sets alight the barely-repressed anger seething against the surface of her skin, kept down only by the force of just how much she cares about Rhys. 

Of course, it’s not like she hasn’t done things like this before. She’s had plenty of experience with these sorts of partners, people who want it rough, who want her to be cruel. Fiona can be cruel. She’d like to think she’s rather good at it. Maybe too good, she thinks ruefully, and takes a drag on the cigarette. Maybe she’ll be too much for him. 

Somehow, she knows there’s no such thing with Rhys.

Fiona pushes her bangs out of her face and stares at the shadows as they darken and spread over the desert. That first time - what had he reacted well to? The teasing and bullying, definitely. The hair-pulling. The _good boy_. The moment when she’d been fucking him, fast and hard as she could, and he’d dropped all pretense and begged, begged her to let him come. 

The memory of that night makes Fiona shiver, and she draws her coat tighter around herself. It’s clear that Rhys desperately wants to submit, but he seems to like the playful chase of it, too. So he mouths off and teases her and acts like a shit until she successfully outwits him and leaves him no choice but to follow her lead. 

And, of course, there’s fun in that. But it isn’t just fun. There’s something deeper going on there, something that Fiona’s rapidly realizing she’s barely scratching the surface of.

Fiona thinks for a moment, considering her options. She doesn’t have much gear, nothing fancy or bizarre, just her travel bag and her pistol and the clothes on her back. And she might be physically stronger than Rhys - in fact, she knows she is - but that cybernetic arm packs a real fucking punch. If Rhys really wanted to, he could break her fingers by flexing his hand too hard. So purely physical domination is out. 

But. Maybe that doesn’t even matter.

Because Fiona knows she has a deadly weapon that Rhys can’t ever touch. Something she was trained to use with merciless precision, something that’s always been at her side, something that’s never failed her. 

And there’s no question at all as to how effective it would be against Rhys.

She drops the butt of her cigarette on the ground and decisively grinds it flat with the heel of her shoe before slipping inside again.

\- - -

The motel room is dark and quiet when Fiona enters, the only light within it coming from the slight crack under the closed bathroom door. Fiona takes care to close and lock the bedroom door as loudly as she can, in order to alert Rhys of her presence without going so far as to announce it aloud. 

Sure enough, Rhys emerges from the bathroom when he hears her. “Hi,” he says, tentative.

“Hi,” says Fiona, and nods pointedly at the bed. “Sit.”

He does, looking up at her with trepidation. It strikes her, for a moment, how much he’s changed physically since that first encounter in Prosperity Junction - the eye and arm are new, of course, but so is the disheveled hair, the faint scars, the freckles blooming over his pale skin after months in the Pandoran sun. For an instant, something uncomfortable and warm tugs at her chest. 

But Fiona ignores it. Instead, she takes a moment to pace back and forth in front of Rhys, gathering her thoughts. And Rhys, for once, is silent, just watching her. Waiting.

When she speaks, it’s careful, calculated.

“So. You like being submissive in bed, for the most part. But you don’t like that you like it, hence the bad behavior and initial resistance. Does that sound about right?”

Rhys glances down at his feet. “...maybe.”

Fiona nods. “So you find your wants and desires humiliating. The catch, though, is that humiliation turns you on. Yes?”

He hesitates. “Fine. Yes.”

“Good,” says Fiona, and Rhys flushes. She, of course, notices. “And that’s the other thing,” she continues, eyeing him. “You like being praised - you want to be praised. You want to be good. It’s just a matter of getting past those pesky mental blocks first. Like the embarrassment. But especially the guilt. So you get defensive. And defensive, guilty Rhys is a little shit.”

Rhys snorts. “...yeah. Okay.”

“But in all honesty, I don’t think I mind so much when you’re a little shit,” says Fiona. “I like a challenge. And you like to be properly...broken in. So this could be mutually beneficial for you and me.” 

“Hm,” says Rhys. 

“And like you said. You want me to forgive you. But you want it to hurt. You… want to atone.”

Rhys laughs, like he’s almost surprised. “...yeah. I guess so.”

“So do you want to do this or not?” asks Fiona, trying desperately not to let her voice shake with uncertainty. 

But Rhys is sure. “...Okay,” he says, and nods. “I - I want to. We can try.”

“Good,” says Fiona, oddly relieved.

“I just have to - " He stops himself, rubbing his palms together.

“...Yes?” 

“You’re not going to...physically punish me, are you?”

That’s...a loaded question. “Do you want physical punishments?”

Rhys flushes and looks down at his feet.

Fiona arches an eyebrow. “That’s not a no, is it.”

“It is...not a no.”

“Noted.”

“But - " He stops himself again.

Fiona gestures. “Go on.”

“Nothing with the eye or the arm, okay? And - and no blood.”

“No eye, no arm, no blood. Deal.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” says Fiona, then pauses. “One more thing.”

“What.”

“We need a better safeword.”

Rhys frowns. “What’s wrong with the one we used before?”

Fiona makes a face. “‘Claptrap’?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s stupid. That’s what’s wrong.”

“It’s not stupid!”

“Yes it is. Give me another one.”

“Fine. Uh….Okay. Maybe…” He thinks. 

But Fiona’s patience is rapidly running out. “Jesus Christ,” she says, after a few moments of silence. “Okay, new safe word is uh. Skag.”

“That’s not better.”

“It’s much better. For one thing, it doesn’t make me vomit a little bit in the back of my mouth when I hear it. “

“Funny, cause that’s what happening to me right now.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

Rhys considers it. “...'Handsome Jack'?”

Fiona blinks, incredulous. “Why do your safeword ideas suck so badly?”

“Okay, but it’s effective, right?”

“Yeah, because it makes me want to start throwing things at you.”

Rhys gestures wildly. “I don’t see you coming up with anything even remotely better!”

“Okay,” says Fiona decisively. “Executive decision. The safeword is, I don't know, ‘drakefruit’.”

“Drakefruit is gross.”

“Glad you think so. It’ll kill the mood.”

Rhys finally gives up with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, throwing himself down onto the bed. “Fine. Whatever. Drakefruit it is.” 

Fiona puts her hands on her hips. “And. If you want to stop. If things go even the littlest bit too far for you, physically or verbally or whatever, use the safe word. Right away.”

“Okay.”

“Swear.”

“I swear.”

“Spit swear.”

“Ew, no.”

Fiona stares. “You’ll eat me out but you won’t spit swear.”

“That’s different and you know it,” says Rhys, clearly trying his very best not to pout.

“Look,” says Fiona, and steps toward him. “I don’t want to hurt you in a way you don’t like. But I’m not going to stop unless you safeword out. Understood?”

Rhys takes a deep, shivery breath, shuts his eyes. “Understood.”

“Good,” says Fiona.

He looks up at her. “Now what.”

Fiona smirks. “Now,” she says, leaning in close. “If you want to. And if you’re ready. You and I are gonna play a little game.”

Rhys arches an eyebrow suggestively. “...What’s the game?”

“Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be any _fun_ , would it?”

“And how do we start?”

She chuckles. “Oh, we’ve already started. Go on and undress.”

“What?”

“Undress,” she says, a command. “Now.”

He almost obeys, for a moment - she sees him shift in his trousers, sees his hands twitch toward his belt.

But then, he looks up at her, his expression suddenly defiant. “...What if I don’t want to?”

 _Here we go._ “Of course you want to.”

“I don’t want to,” he says.

“You’re lying to me.” 

“No, I’m not.”

“I don’t like it when you lie to me, Rhys.” She lets his name drip off her tongue, stretching it out into two honeyed syllables.

He scoffs in protest. “I’m telling the truth!” 

“Are you?” says Fiona, and smiles. “You don’t want me to hold you down and fuck you ‘til you forget how to do anything but beg for more? “

Rhys blinks. “I - ”

“Cause that’s what you did last time I fucked you, right?” she continues lightly, as if she’s talking about the weather. “I didn’t say you needed to beg for permission to cum. It didn’t even cross my mind. Until you started begging.”

“I thought you…” He licks his lips. “I thought you liked that.”

“I do like it. But that’s not why you did it.” She eyes him, cool and impersonal. “It’s just your natural instinct, isn’t it. To mouth off and deny how much you want it until you’re pinned down and helpless and desperate.” 

He gasps at that, and Fiona laughs, breathless. “I really don’t know how you survived out here on Pandora without me,” she continues, glancing up in mock thoughtfulness. “So willing to give it up for anyone who pays you enough attention.” She knows she’s being mean, knows she’s hurting him, and he doesn’t ask her to stop, so she doesn’t. “I don’t even know if I want to let you outside on your own in a place like this. You’re so easy, I don’t know if you’d be able to take care of yourself.” 

“I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Can you really? Then how’d you end up pinned down to a bed by some _filthy Pandoran scum_?” She spits the words out, harsh and mocking. 

“Because - ”

She doesn’t even let him begin to defend himself. “Besides, you’re still so nice and soft from all those years behind a desk working for _Hyperion_.” She squeezes at his waist, indulgent, objectifying. “How could I let a body like this go to waste?”

He rolls his eyes. “...It’s not _that_ great - ”

“Did I _ask_ for your opinion?”

“You didn’t tell me not to give it to you.”

“I assumed you’d know better than to insult something that belongs to me,” Fiona fires back. “But I guess not.”

“I - I don’t belong to you,” he says, and there it is, that defensiveness just starting to tip over into desperation. 

“But you want to.”

“I don’t!”

“You want to belong to someone, Rhys,” she says, simple and sure and matter-of-fact. “You belonged to Hyperion for a long time. And you belonged to Handsome Jack for even longer. Why else would you be so blindly loyal if you didn’t crave that feeling, deep down?”

It’s casually, devastatingly cruel, and the humiliating truth of it wraps itself around his chest, his throat, his cock. Still, he shakes his head frantically. “I - I don’t need that, I don’t - ”

And Fiona goes in for the kill. “You don’t need it,” she starts, low and dangerous. “But you want it. We both know you love being owned. Controlled. _Used_.” She smiles. “And since you want that so badly, it’s better for everyone that the person who owns you is me.”

Rhys’s jaw drops in shock, as if she’d slapped him across the face. And Fiona’s shocked too, at her own boldness, her utter lack of remorse. She winces, waits to hear the safeword, mentally prepares an apology for absolutely, definitely crossing the line. 

But Rhys doesn’t say a thing. Just closes his mouth, closes his eyes, and ever-so-slightly bows his head in what could almost be a concession.

And then he looks up at her, and the fire’s alight in his eyes again. “In that case, I think you’re gonna have to earn your ownership.”

That makes a laugh burst out of her, loud and unexpected. “Fine,” she says, unable to hide her relief. “Then take off your clothes.”

“...you can’t tell me what to do,” says Rhys. 

“I can, and I will. Take off your clothes.”

Rhys juts out his chin. “No.”

Fiona smiles. “Okay.” 

And then she reaches down and pulls a knife out of her heeled boot, pointing it directly at Rhys. “Then I’ll take them off for you.”

Rhys’s eyes widen at the sight of the knife, and he scrambles back on the bed, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. “Oh shit, okay, okay, okay, taking it off, this outfit was VERY expensive - ”

“Uh-huh,” says Fiona, and slides the knife back into its sheath. “That’s what I thought.”

Rhys hastily unbuttons his shirt and tosses it to the floor, followed by his trousers. But when he reaches for the waistband of his underwear, Fiona holds up a hand. “Leave those on for now,” she says. “And go stand in the middle of the room.”

Rhys complies warily, slipping off the bed and positioning himself in front of Fiona. “Now what,” he says, unable to keep the attitude out of his voice. 

But Fiona ignores it. Instead, she rises to her feet and gives Rhys a long, slow once-over. 

He squirms under her gaze. “What are you doing…?”

Still, Fiona doesn’t answer him. She stalks around him in a slow circle, eyeing him. “Did you clean up like I asked you to?”

Even from behind him, she can tell he’s chewing his lower lip. “Yes.”

“Good,” she says, smirking, and reaches a hand down to grope firmly at the swell of his ass. 

He starts. “Hey! What the hell are you - "

“I’m inspecting my property,” Fiona says airily, and grabs at his other cheek. “Don’t interrupt.”

“But - ” starts Rhys, and without thinking Fiona pulls her hand back and gives his ass a mostly-playful smack. 

Rhys gasps in shock and stills.

It takes a moment to sink in. But once it does, Fiona can’t stop the sly, gleeful grin from creeping across her face. “Well, well. Look what we have here.” She curls a hand around his hips and reaches down to rub at his miserably hard cock. “Are we discovering something new about ourselves today, Rhys?”

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smacks his ass again, harder this time. “This is the _physical punishment_ you were thinking of earlier, isn’t it.”

“I don’t know,” he says, but it comes out as a weak little whimper. “I - ”

“Do you want to keep doing this?” 

He’s silent - doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

She exhales, thinks. Curls a hand around his waist and speaks again. “Rhys...do you think you deserve a punishment?”

Rhys swallows, takes a deep, shuddery breath. And then gives her a minuscule nod.

Fiona’s face breaks into a wide, disbelieving grin. “Okay,” she says, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. 

“Okay,” says Rhys, and she thinks she might sense a little bit of excitement there too.

Fiona steels herself and crosses back to the bed, sitting on its edge. “Okay,” she says again. “Over - over my knees.” She cringes internally at how nervous that sounded. 

“Um,” says Rhys dumbly, “yes, uh…' _mistress'_ …?”

Fiona stares. “...What the fuck. Don’t call me that.”

“Okay thank GOD,” Rhys sighs, relief spreading across his face. “I was hoping you were gonna say that.”

“Of course I was gonna say that. Ew.” She shudders. 

“Do you want me to call you something…?”

“Yeah? My name?”

“All right. Okay. Good.” He kneels on the bed, readying himself to crawl over her -

“Or hey, you can call me _Daddy_.”

Rhys lets out a loud, nervous cough-laugh. “Okay, you’re totally fucking with me now.”

“Am I?” says Fiona mysteriously, and hauls him over her knees. 

Rhys squawks, indignant. “Hey! Watch the arm!”

“Oh, shut up,” says Fiona, rolling her eyes. “You’re not gonna ding up your fancy chrome plating from getting your ass spanked.”

“Oh, so we’re - FUCK!” he cries out, clutching at the bedsheets. “Wow! Okay! You really did just spank me!”

Fiona snorts. “Holy shit, you have got to be kidding me. That was, like, a tap.”

“It surprised me!”

“You know, for being such a masochist you’re also kind of a wimp,” Fiona muses, rubbing a hand over his boxer-clad ass. 

“I am not a wimp. Or - or a masochist.”

“You know that I can feel your cock, right? Like, I can feel how hard you are right now?”

“I’m mostly naked in the lap of a very terrifyingly sexy woman, am I supposed to not get hard?”

“Aw, you think I’m terrifying? How sweet.”

“Are we doing this or not.”

“Soooo impatient,” says Fiona, but she’s leaning back, assessing Rhys coolly. “Okay. So. Why are we here.”

“I don’t know?”

“You know. Tell me.”

“Cause we’re horny?”

“For every shitty answer you give me from now on I will give you five extra spanks. Why are we here.”

That cows Rhys, makes him pout sorely and glance up at her. “Cause - cause I was bad.”

“What did you do that was bad.”

“I dunno - ” _Smack._ “Fuck! Ow!”

“Rhys, do you want to be good or not?”

“Yes! I want to be good! Jeez!”

“Okay,” says Fiona, and leans over him. “Then tell me. Do good boys ignore and/or condone the mass slaughter of innocent Pandoran citizens by a genocidal CEO?”

“...What?”

“Yes or no question, Rhys.”

Rhys scowls. “No.” 

“That’s right,” says Fiona. “And do good boys harbor the ghost of said psychopathic CEO in their brains without telling any of their friends and companions until it’s too late?”

She can almost hear his eyes rolling. “Noooo.”

“Lose the fucking attitude.”

“Or what? You’ll spank me?”

Fiona abruptly pulls her hands away from where they've been sitting at the small of his back. “You know, we don’t _have_ to do this if you don’t want to cooperate - ”

Rhys’s hand flashes out and grabs her forearm. “Wait wait wait - I’m sorry - ”

“I sure hope you are,” says Fiona, but she relaxes, resting her hands on his thighs. “In that case, how about this. How many spanks do you think you deserve for your behavior?”

“For today? Or...in general?”

“Oh, just for today. We’d be here for weeks if you were going to be punished for everything you’ve ever done.” She smiles lightly. “Besides, I have some ideas for other ways that you can make all that up to me. Ideas that are much more _interesting_ than a simple spanking.”

Rhys swallows audibly, but she feels his cock jump at the suggestion. “Well. Uh. Okay then.”

“So. How many?”

She’s offering him an easy out. He knows it, and she knows he knows it. But she doesn’t move, just watches him as he closes his eyes, thinks, swallows. “Maybe…” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe we can start with twenty?”

Fiona nods approvingly. “Twenty. I think that’s reasonable.” She leans over him, adjusts his hips slightly. “And you’ll count them out loud for me, won’t you?”

She can feel him sulking. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want thirty instead?”

“....no.”

“Then you’ll count them all. Out loud.”

“Fine,” he huffs.

“Starting with one.”

“But - but we already - ” Her hand cracks down. “FUCK!”

“ _Fuck_ is not a number, Rhys.” She leans over him, palm still on his reddening ass. “And I don’t think you should be using that kind of disrespectful language with me anyway.”

“...I can’t even _swear_?”

“Nope,” she says airily, popping the p at the end and reveling in her own power. “So are you gonna count? Or are you just gonna let me go at you until I feel like we’re done?”

“I’ll count, I’ll count,” Rhys gasps. “That was - that was one. So. One.”

“That’s right,” says Fiona approvingly, and smacks his ass again.

He wants to swear again, she can see it, watches him bite his tongue and clench his teeth. “Two,” he says, already sounding a little strained.

“Good,” Fiona says. “See, that’s not so hard, is it?”

“Mmph,” says Rhys into the bedsheets. 

Fiona takes that as her cue. She winds up and spanks him yet again. “Three,” he grits out. “That’s three.”

Smack. “Four.”

Smack. “Five.”

Smack. “Six.”

Smack. “Seven. That’s really all you’ve got?”

It takes a moment to fully register. But once it does, Fiona’s jaw drops, incredulous. “What did you just say to me?”

He shrugs, glancing flippantly up at her over his shoulder. “Just saying that it would probably hurt more if someone hit me with a flyswatter.”

She laughs, breathless, almost manic. “You want it to hurt more?”

 _Shit_. “I didn’t say that - ”

“Ohhh, I think you did,” says Fiona, and tugs his boxers down to expose his pert, reddened ass. “Cause I can make it hurt more.”

Before he has the chance to retort, she swings her hand down hard, hitting his ass with a loud crack, and Rhys cries out sharply. “Shit!”

“ _Language_.”

He pants for a second, gasping against the bedsheets. “That hurt!”

“You _like_ it when it hurts,” says Fiona, and smacks him again, even harder, ignoring how he squirms underneath her. “You _want_ it to hurt.”

“I don’t - ”

She leans in close, growls low into his ear. “ _Don’t. Lie. To. Me._ ” 

Rhys is still for a long moment. 

And then he whines under his breath and pushes his ass into the air in a wordless plea.

Fiona doesn’t hesitate this time. She hauls him in closer and brings her hand down again and again, harder, faster, until her palm is stinging. Rhys is gasping out something, maybe numbers, maybe pleas. But his back is arching, hips twitching back to meet her blows, and she can feel it - that _thing_ takes over her, that deadly focus, that pinpoint of rage. The urge to make him pay, to make him sorry, to make him _hurt_. 

It feels like flying. 

When she finally pauses, rubs his reddened ass, she hears it - a little sniffle. She peers down. “You okay?”

But Rhys, even as he’s on the verge of tears, nods desperately. “‘M okay. Don’t stop.”

Fiona’s brows knit together. “We’re done. That was twenty, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So the punishment’s over.”

“No,” says Rhys, shakes his head.

“What do you mean ‘no’, that’s - ”

And then, all at once, she gets it. “You - you want more.”

“Yes,” Rhys gasps, grinds his erection down against her thigh. “More.”

She thinks for a moment. “Well,” she says eventually, “you have been very good during the punishment so far.” She looks down at him, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “Maybe you deserve a reward, too.” 

“ _Please_ ,” Rhys says. 

Fiona clicks her tongue. “Please _what_.”

The dam finally breaks. 

“Hurt me,” Rhys asks - _begs_. “Hurt me. Please.”

And how the hell is Fiona supposed to say no to that?

The tone in the room changes almost instantly - it’s no longer that of simple punishment, but something sweeter, more indulgent. Fiona’s smacks are lighter now, but still Rhys lets out a little sob every time she so much as rubs a hand over his ass, a cry of pain and a plea for more all at once. “Good boy,” she hums, and his hips give a needy twitch in response. “Not such a brat now, huh? Guess I just gotta break you in before we play.”

That makes Rhys keen, makes his cock twitch miserably against her leg. And Fiona’s never been the type to get too wrapped up in her tall tales, but now the sound of her own words is turning her on, too. “Mm. I should do this every time I fuck you, shouldn’t I,” she continues, making a show of inspecting his bruised-red ass, spreading his cheeks just slightly. “You look nice with a little...color. Like someone’s taking real good care of you.” She laughs lowly, leans over to purr into his ear. “Besides, I bet the extra bit of pain will make you cum even harder.”

She winds a hand in Rhys’s hair and tugs lightly just as her other hand smacks his ass hard, and Rhys lets out the filthiest moan she’s ever heard in her life. “ _Fuck_ ,” he sobs, “ _fuck_ ,” and it sounds so sweetly broken coming out of his mouth that she doesn’t even think to reprimand him. 

Using her grip on his hair, she gently tilts his head to the side just enough to see his face. He’d been crying, tear tracks streaking down his flushed cheeks, lips bruised and bitten red. His eyes, though, are glassy, far away. He blinks up at her, utterly wrecked and finally docile. 

She pets his head. “How are you doing?”

“...Hurts,” he says eventually, working his mouth around the word, dazed and slow. He looks…well, he looks almost high. Fiona knows what this is. 

She takes a deep breath. “I think you’ve had enough for one day,” she tells him, trying her best to seem sensible and authoritative and not like she wants to fuck him into the mattress. 

But Rhys shakes his head, curls himself against her thighs. “Noooooo.” 

She laughs. “I’m not going anywhere.” Another spark of fondness deep down that she ignores. 

“But you’re gonna get bad bruises if we do more.”

Rhys whines in dismay, low and pouting. 

“Disappointed?”

“Mmph.”

“Come here,” says Fiona, and draws Rhys up so he can flop heavily onto the sheets beside her. 

She leans over him, and he blinks sleepily up at her, and she can’t help but lean down and kiss him deeply. He yields easily now, moaning into her mouth and sinking into the kiss. 

Eventually, Fiona drags herself away, pulling back to study Rhys’s face. He smiles lazily. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” she replies, amused. 

He smacks his lips, looks up at her with hazy eyes. “Was I good this time?”

It’s simple, innocuous, and it hits her like a punch to the gut. “Yes,” she finally manages to say. “You were - you were very good.”

Rhys preens at that, grinning languidly and pressing himself up against her. “That’s good,” he hums, and mindlessly grinds his still-hard cock against her thigh. 

Fiona arches an eyebrow and pulls away slightly, just enough that Rhys can’t buck his hips against her anymore. Rhys whines at the loss, pouting, and Fiona chuckles. “Oh, you’re not getting off that easily,” she says, internally patting herself on the back for her own clever innuendo. “And we’re not done playing yet.”

“But I thought I was good!”

Fiona leans back, taps a finger against her chin in feigned thought. “Well, you’ve been good, that’s true…”

And then she leans over Rhys again, lets her hand drift down toward his hips, lets her voice go low and silky and dark. “But do you want to be even _better_?”

“Yes,” gasps Rhys, “yes, please -“

Fiona smiles. “Then get down on your knees.”

Rhys obeys instantly, scrambling down from the bed and onto the floor. Fiona takes that time to finally peel off her pants and toss her coat to the side, sighing at the feel of cool air against her skin. 

When she turns to face Rhys, she’s pleasantly surprised to see that he’s done exactly as she’d asked - he’s kneeling on the floor, cock bobbing untouched between his thighs. (God, even his stupid cock is pretty. Bastard.) He watches her as she slings her legs around to the side of the bed, positioning herself in front of him. 

She’s sure he knows what’s coming next. 

But first, Fiona lets her shirt fall open to reveal her torso, athletic and taut and littered with scars. Rhys’s lips part and he stares at her bare breasts, mesmerized. 

She grins. “My eyes are up here.”

He blinks and looks up. “...What?”

Fiona laughs, shaking her head. “Nothing.” She leans back, regards him. “So. You wanna make me really happy, right?”

He nods vigorously. “Yes. Please.”

“Then get to work,” says Fiona, and he does.

The first touch of his lips over her panties sends a little thrill through her, and she runs a hand through his hair approvingly. He mouths at her through the thin fabric, hot and desperate and shameless. 

“Take them off,” Fiona instructs. She watches him as he swallows, bites his lip, hooks his fingers around her underwear and pulls them down reverently. He stares at the little thatch of curls underneath as if it’s the gateway to heaven itself. Fiona smirks. “Go on,” she says, patting the back of his head. 

It’s slow, at first. He takes his time exploring her - savoring her, a part of her hopes - placing little kitten licks against her skin, running his tongue slowly over her clit. It’s teasing, tantalizing, and he’s not even doing it on purpose. She hums, running a hand through his hair encouragingly. “That’s it. Good boy.”

Whether it’s the hands in his hair or the praise, she doesn’t know, but something makes him moan open-mouthed against her. She chuckles. “That’s right,” she says, “look at me,” and Rhys looks up and there’s the money shot, right there, all doe-eyed and fucked-out and good, so good. 

Fuck, he has no idea what he does to her. 

Or maybe he does, because he holds eye contact for a moment before he goes back to his delicate little licks. He’s clearly holding himself back, trying not to do anything she might dislike. And sure, it feels nice. But Fiona’s starting to get greedy. She always does, with him.

So she grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs his head back, not too roughly but enough to get his attention. “Come on,” she sing-songs, eyes alight with challenge. “You can do better than _that,_ pretty boy.”

Their eyes meet for just an instant, that razor-sharp thing crackling between them, and then he does as he’s told.

He takes a breath and dips down yet again, but it’s not the hesitant little tastes of before. Now, it’s exactly what he’s meant to do, all lips and tongue and desperation. Like he’s starving for her. Fiona throws her head back and laughs with breathless glee, toes curling and fingers pulling at his hair. Rhys moans at that, of course, a little keen of pain-pleasure, but he keeps going, spurred on by her touch. 

His teeth catch lightly on her clit and she gasps, pushing his head down instinctively at the sharp pleasure. He does it again, same move as before but slower, and she almost comes right there. “God, right there,” she breathes, and he whines against her in response, and the vibration pushes her even closer to the edge. “Good boy,” she chants, “right there, just like that, good boy...” 

Things get fuzzy after that, a mess of pleasure and praise and the sweet little sucking noises he’s making and how goddamn good it feels, so good that her knees are trembling. She guides him with a hand at his head and he lets himself be guided, all dark lashes against flushed cheeks, blissful in his obedience. Yeah. She could get used to this, she thinks, almost deliriously. 

She doesn’t know exactly when it happens but at one point she’s so close, and it’s not quite enough. So she stands up, grabs the back of his head and ruts against him and he just takes it, lets her fuck his mouth, grind her clit against the flat of his tongue. The world narrows to a pinpoint, just her and him and pleasure. She uses him and he lets himself be used, moaning underneath her and that’s what finally makes her come, slow and deep and hard against his tongue, like electricity through her veins. He licks her through it, too, broad flat strokes of his tongue against her until she’s shivering from overstimulation, until she finally decides it’s enough.

Before the afterglow can set in, she reaches down and tugs him back up onto the bed. He’s too surprised and dazed to react as she sits up against the headboard and drapes him over her, his back to her chest and his head on her shoulder. His cock, red with neglect, twitches eagerly against his thigh, and she takes it in her hand and strokes. 

If she thought Rhys was desperate before, it’s nothing like he is now, a bundle of raw nerves and sparking filaments arching against her. Rhys’s nails dig into her arm, and he’s bucking his hips into her fist now and that simply won’t do. Fiona forces her knees between his and spreads his legs wide, keeping him firmly in place while she strokes him. He whines, gasps, pushes his face into her neck, and she wraps her other arm around his torso, brushing her thumb over his nipples. She knows his body now, can play him like an instrument, can make him sing like a livewire. 

And oh, does he sing sweetly. His moans are louder than ever, completely uninhibited, so utterly shameless that hearing them makes even Fiona blush. She makes a mental note to tease him about it later.

But that thought is interrupted as Rhys stiffens, gasping underneath her. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh, not so fast,” Fiona says, and pulls her hand away. “That wasn’t a very polite way to ask.”

He sobs in desperation. “Please.”

Fiona ignores him. “Cause you know who this belongs to?” She cups a hand over his cock. 

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“Yours,” he says, “it’s all yours, please let me cum - ”

“That’s right. You belong to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say it.”

“I belong to you,” he says, quietly.

She grasps his cock, strokes it. “Again.”

“I belong to you,” he repeats, louder, like a prayer, “I’m yours, I’m all yours - ”

“Then come for me.”

And he does, with a cry, shuddering apart in her arms. She strokes him through it, cooing “good boy” into his ear until he’s a wet, shivering wreck. 

The last of his orgasm passes, and he slumps against her, a dead weight, and tilts his head up just enough for their eyes to meet.

Almost instantly, Rhys giggles. It makes Fiona giggle too, a bit bemusedly, but still. 

But Rhys giggles again, and keeps giggling, and then he’s laughing, harder than she’s ever seen him laugh, throwing his head back and laughing, laughing, laughing. So hard he’s turned over, on his stomach now, on top of her, and still laughing. She laughs along with him, almost relieved. 

Soon, his laughter subsides, little by little. Turning back into a giggle. And back into a hiccup. 

And back into silence. Just the sound of breathing. 

It comes after a moment - a choked little noise in the back of his throat. She pauses, listens. 

Again, the choked noise, but louder, then louder, and then he’s openly sobbing into her chest. “I’m sorry,” he cries, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

Fiona doesn’t know what to do - should she shush him? Talk to him? Comfort him? - so she settles for doing nothing at all. Just holding him, stroking his hair, letting him cling to her as he weeps. 

Eventually, the tears subside too, leaving him sniffling and quiet in their wake. A moment passes, and then he swallows, lifts his head. “I’m - I’m sorry,” he says again, with a wry little smile now. “I don’t know what - I’ve literally never cried after sex before, this isn’t something that - ”

“It’s okay,” says Fiona automatically, hand going up to his face to brush his tears away. “It’s fine. That was…” She takes a deep breath. “That was intense.”

“Yeah,” Rhys agrees, and sniffs again. 

This is the part Fiona’s not so good at. She considers, bites her lip. “Was it...That wasn’t because of anything I did, or said, right?”

That makes Rhys laugh, not manic anymore but quiet, genuine. “No,” he finally says. “No. That was - it was - it was…” He laughs again, shakes his head. “It was perfect. Just...a lot. A lot of emotions. You know?”

“But you liked it.”

He swallows. Takes a deep breath. “Yes. I - I really liked it, Fiona,” and it’s so devastatingly honest that it takes her words away, for just a moment. 

Still, she worries her lower lip between her teeth. “So it wasn’t...too much.”

“What?”

“What - what I said. I got...a little carried away.”

“Oh,” says Rhys, and shrugs. “I mean, you’re right.” 

She’s a little confused now. “...about?”

“I, um. Like you said before,” he says. “I think I do...like that feeling. Of being owned. And - and you’re right that doing it here, with you, in a controlled space, it’s...probably a lot healthier.” He chuckles dryly.

“I don’t…” She gathers her thoughts. “I don’t actually own you. You know that, right? That it’s just a game?”

“I know. It still...feels nice. Like - like I’m worthy, somehow. Of being…” He trails off, shakes his head. She waits. 

A moment passes before he speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” says Rhys, and he means it. “For everything.”

“I know you are,” says Fiona, and she means it too. 

She can’t forgive him entirely. Not quite yet. But she gets the feeling that someday, maybe, she might be able to. 

In that moment, she can’t resist it - she presses a kiss to his forehead, just above his temple port.

He hums. “You getting soft on me?”

“I’m not soft,” says Fiona. 

“No, you aren’t,” he agrees, but he’s smiling. “Good thing I like it rough, anyway.”

“Do you now,” Fiona teases back. “Never woulda guessed.”

“Believe it or not, it’s true.”

She chuckles, pokes a finger into his chest. “Seriously, when we’re rough, you moan like - like a porn star.”

He scoffs. “I do not.”

It takes a second for her to realize he’s not being facetious anymore. “Oh, holy shit, you do - did you not know that?”

“I mean - I’m not THAT loud!” 

“Huh. I think you should go talk to the people in the next room over. Ask them what they think about that.”

He flushes pink. “Oh - shut up.”

“And I’d be able to tell if you were putting it on. But nah, it’s genuine.” She grins, gives him a cheeky wink. “Just slutty as all hell.” 

It’s meant to be a joke, but the way Rhys throws his hands over his face and groans - that makes her think. On a hunch, Fiona’s hand drifts down. 

When she feels it, she closes her eyes in disbelief. “You’re hard. Again.”

“Oh my GOD, you know that - when you say that sort of thing - what do you expect?!”

“Are you gonna get hard every time I make fun of you now?”

“Not - not every time!”

“Every time I call you slutty, then? Even as a joke?” She laughs. “Man, you are really into this humiliation thing, aren’t you.”

That pouty little whine is back. “It’s not funny…”

Fiona shakes her head. “You know, I guess that means I’ll have to think of better punishments. Ones you don’t end up enjoying quite so much.”

“...like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, and shrugs. “I think not letting you cum for a few weeks might be fun.” 

“Fun for _you_!” Rhys scoffs, but she feels his cock give yet another valiant twitch under the covers. 

“Well, that’s the point. It’s a punishment,” she says, smirking. “Besides, you won’t have to worry about it if you behave.”

“Mm, you know I won’t behave,” says Rhys, and grins.

“And that’s why I like you so much,” says Fiona, and Rhys gasps in pleasure as her hand dips down to his cock once again.

The rest of the evening passes in a haze of sweat and sex - another round in the bed, of course, and then a third. And then, of course, they have to shower, and that’s another whole affair, and then they’re both already naked so why not just keep going? 

Eventually, though, they exhaust themselves entirely, and curl up next to each other in the shitty motel bed. The warm feeling in Fiona’s chest is back again, and she’s far too tired to fight it off now. So she lets it sit, basks in its glow, pulls him close so they can share it for a moment.

As she drifts off to sleep, she almost notices it. Almost feels him mouth the words gently against her skin, smiling. _I belong to you, Fiona._

Almost. 

**Author's Note:**

> (surprise! these two losers have been soft for each other the whole damn time!)


End file.
